The rest of chapter 8 "Full Circle"

Rising up behind the guard, he tapped him on the shoulder at which the guard turned. Methos grabbed him around the jaw and upper head and twisted his head violently until a sharp crack was heard and the man fell limply to the ground. He looked at him for a moment dispassionatly as he wiped the mud from his hands tehn bent down and began stripping the body of it's clothes and weapons.

Once clothed and armed with long spear, sword and a rounded shield slung over his back, he vaulted bareback upon the horse he had released, wrapping his long fingers through its' mane and kicked it in the ribs towards the outskirts of Rome.

He ran the horse for all it was worth, feeling each heartbeat of the beast in him as closer and closer he came to the Roman legions still encamped as they waited for their time to come to escort the Goths to the palace. A cry ripped from him in exhileration; he slapped the horse's rump with the flat of the blade urging it to an even faster speed.

On the perimeter of the Roman forces, guards spotted a dim figure flying over the ground on horseback towards them. Shaking his head, the guard peered intently at the figure who appeared and then disappeared in the sheets of rain falling from the sky. Maybe it was an apparition he was seeing--it seemed to fade into thin air as he watched it. He thought for a moment, then reached behind him and shouted out a warning to the next sentry along the line who, in turn, alerted his officer in charge of the invader approaching.

The officer sat astride his horse to get a better view of whatever or whoever it was, then ordered a small detachment to the fore.

Immediatly they lined up in perfect precision and awaited their orders, grumbling softly to themselves about the weather and trying to discern what it was they were standing at azttention for.

The motion within the ranks caught Methos' eye and he pulled up hard, causing the horse to rear back on his hind legs. "Whoa--down!" He walked the horse slowly as he assessed the situation and decided against any further approach. It was too dangerous and he knew enough of the signs from the Roman contingent to know that he was possibly a threat to them.

Wheeling the horse about he decided to head for the villa of a friend Gaius Pollonius, on the outskirts in order to get shelter, dry clothes, and a way to get out of the Goth's commander's grasp. He was willing to escape in any manner necessary--and at any price.

The Roman officer squinted as he watched the lone figure turn his approach away from his men, then turned and shouted to them. "Stand down!" whereupon the men shuffled back to their original positions and wait miserably in the damp for the setting of the sun.

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Grayson stirred, gasping the first gulps of air into his once-dead lungs. His eyelids fluttered and he swiftly clutched at his chest where the dagger had been impaled. Groaning in agony as he attempted to sit upright, his eyes flew open to stare into Darius' own pale blue ones.

"Welcome back," Darius said as he cradled Grayson. "How are you feeling?" He shifted his weight and clasped his son's hand. He stared intensely at him for a moment before saying, "Learn to keep your temper, my son. It will be your undoing someday as will your arrogance."

Grayson shook himself from his father's grasp and stood up silently walking away from him, his body language speaking of the hurt and betrayal that he was feeling. After a few minutes of complete silence he turned and looked back on his teacher. "You killed me!" The hurt was now obvious in his voice. "How could you do that to me? I am your son!"

Darius stood and walked away over to a bowl of water and cleansed himself of the blood which covered him, paying meticulous care to remove every trace of it ever being on him. "When do we enter Rome?" He glanced in Grayson's direction. "Soon?"

Grayson's mouth tightened for a moment as he realized that he had been taught a lesson about obeying and following directions. He pulled up a hide covered stool and sat. "Yes, soon. At sunset but there are conditions."

"That being?" Darius pulled his blood soaked tunic of him, revealing the heavily muscled back and arms as he searched around for any signs of Methos. Frowning, he went to the door of the tent and pulled it back only to not see any sign of him.

"Rome is to escort us into it's walls with a small portion of their army." Grayson began, then went on. "Only a hundred of our men are to accompany you--no more. I think that they are afraid we might start something."

Darius half smiled. "One hundred will be sufficient--two hunderd eyes to look at their defenses and the strength of their positions when we enter." He sighed and stretched like a cat with arms overhead, working out the knots and cramps of when he had held his son during the wait for him to revive. "Methos!" he shouted. ""Methos!"

There wasn't an answer.

They exchanged glances. Finally, Grayson softly said, "He's gone--escaped."

"He will regret this, mark me on this, son. When I find him--and find him I will--then he will know my wrath!"

He looked about and finally got dressed in his finest clothes: a pure white woolen tunic that reached mid thigh, leggings of black leather and warm boots made of animal hide that were wrapped in strips of leather in a criss-crossed pattern to hold them up. On his arms, he placed arm guards of dark leather studded with bits of silver and gold worked in intricate patterns that reached from wrist to forearms.

Grayson nodded in approval. "You shall put them all to shame, father." He cleared his throat then continued. "I will try harder to obey your wishes and commands. I learned my lesson." Lowering his head, he said. "I apologize for my temper."

Darius came to him and embraced him, then kissed him on the cheek. "You are a good student, son. And a good man to have by my side in battle. But you must fight your own battles within yourself to control the demons that could cause you to lose in the Game--your temper and arrogance will do naught but ill in the final battle for the Prize."

Grayson nodded then backed away. "I'll go and choose out the hundred for your escort." He left.

Darius squeezed his fists tight. "Rome has no idea what we start tonight." he went over and searched for the runic stone he had taken from the soothsayer and held it up to the torchlight and then tossed it to the floor as he himself left to attend things.

Had someone come in and picked it up, they might have had a time as they tried to translate the simple runic symbol on it, but Darius knew exactly what it was that it said.

War. And when flipped over another runic symbol was revealed which translated to another word.

Power.